The fiddler
by Cordelia Von Trapp
Summary: Set after season 07 finale: Jaime has reached Winterfell and things with Daenerys and Jon are settled for the moment: they believe him, if not fully, anyway enough for him to be enjoying some spare time without being locked up in the dungeons.


It was a quiet evening in Winterfell, almost pleasant if you managed to stop thinking about those _things_ up in the far North that the creepy cripple Stark boy said weren't so far anymore.

It had stopped snowing and a gentle yet freezing breeze was now whistling up the many turrets and down in the main court where people were busy finishing up their errands before the night. The soft dim light of a white twilight hanged over men and things.

Jaime enjoyed this quietness: it reminded him of other evenings spent in this courtyard, when the young man these northerners now called their king was just a boy of 14, whose only event in life would be to take the black and go and serve up at the barrier for the rest of his days. It all seemed so far, like those bedtime stories you tell children, tales of a world still pure and intact, lost forever.

Some young squires were gathered in a corner, one of them struggling on an old fiddle, or at least what once had been a fiddle, being now just a battered poor instrument, missing a chord or two, that let out some unbearable sound.

In a corner, sitting on a hay bale, Brienne had just finished tidying up some equipment and was now resting with her back against the rocky wall, casting horrified glances towards the unfortunate fiddler.

He sat next to her.

Totally absorbed by the musical scene at the other end of the courtyard, that now included also an old servant trying to sing along, she barely noticed him. When she turned, she was somewhat surprised to find him so close.

Her hair was untidy – he noticed – and more wavy than usual, maybe for the breeze, maybe because she'd been rummaging in old sacks and boxes for most of the afternoon. Be it one way or the other, Jaime decided she looked just fine, with that tiny lock that tried to escape and reach her forehead, and with slightly flushed cheeks. He wondered how her eyes could look so blue even now that the evening light was fading into darkness. She had a funny dust stain on her upper lip too, he noticed.

He smiled.

"Good evening, ser Jaime"

He responded with a courteous nod, slightly amused at putting on such an act with her.

They had shared so much. She had seen all his faults and wounds, watched him almost torn apart by pain; she had seen so deep in him that now, even after years, he still felt transparent in front of her.

"Lady Brienne of Tarth..." He pronounced her name slowly, gently, as if he was caressing each word coming out of his mouth.

He hadn't planned this, maybe neither thought about it – well not so obsessively as he'd done on other occasions – but he moved towards her, closing the little space between them, and suddenly she felt his left hand on the back of her neck, his lips pressed on hers, lightly but firmly and the tip of his tongue between them gently touching her bottom lip.

She heard her heartbeat echoing in her ears and bouncing in her stomach.

She did not know how long they stayed so, motionless, but afterwards her wet lips felt cold in the night breeze.

She slowly went back to breathing normally. He was gazing at her so intently that she felt almost pierced.

"I apologize" he said.

She looked at him wide-eyed. Doubt, self reproach, uncertainty, fear crossed her mind and he saw all of them like soldiers in line, passing in front of the Lord Commander for inspection.

"I apologize" he continued "because I should have done this a long time ago…".

Silence fell between them, the fiddler kept on with his terrible tune.

"...but down in that pit it was a bit too crowded, with the angry bear and all, you know".

She felt her heart explode at the recollection, her lips curved almost imperceptibly, and she finally raised her eyes.

"Yeah, and that time in the bath tub, you stank terribly" she replied sharply.

This took him completely off guard.

She burst into laughter.

A strong, hearty, loud laughter that echoed in the whole castle.

Jaime stood there, rooted to the spot: Brienne of Tarth was laughing and she had possibly the most gorgeous laugh he'd ever heard.

He looked at her, his green eyes lost in her radiant smiling face: "you should have done this a long time ago too".


End file.
